D.S.O. He was a man to whom the merest chance acquaintance was certain
to take a fancy. I am bound to say that I did so myself, and I hope
that in what I am calmly relating I shall not be considered to have
intentionally failed to do him justice.

It was the second week in August, and as the weather was very hot, my
wife and I had determined to leave Aix and go to Trouville for a little
sea air and bathing. Three days before our departure I returned to the
hotel to dress for dinner. I was just going through the corridor when I
heard voices in our sitting-room. They were the voices of my wife and
Captain Morland.

I don't think that I am naturally a mean man, but I was mean enough to
listen on this occasion.

"You mustn't blame me, Hubert," said my wife, "we were all on the verge
of ruin, and I was bound to marry him."

"How could you consent to do such a thing? You don't care for him in
the least."

"No," said my wife; "nor shall I ever do so if I live for fifty years.
I care for no one but you. But I shall always do my duty to my husband,
who is a kind and good man and lives entirely for me."

"If he died, you would marry me?" asked Captain Morland.

"Of course I would, and, as the children's storybooks say, 'live
happily ever afterwards.' But don't let us discuss deplorable
futurities."